


Unbound

by supposed2bfunny



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, Drabble, M/M, a little softness for the holiday season, forgive the rushed ending i wrote this at 12:30am and was sleepy, howard stern - Freeform, murdoc deserves to be praised sometimes, niccalpot, suggestive but they don't do anything more than talk, thats my trademark kids sorry, the usual insufferable beatles reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny
Summary: In which Murdoc finds himself bound to his headboard beneath 2D, and things do not go as planned.Quick, dialogue-heavy drabble because sometimes 2D deserves to be thoughtful and sometimes Murdoc deserves to be appreciated.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	Unbound

“Alright then?” 2D asks, sitting back on his haunches and looking down at Murdoc thoughtfully.

Murdoc smirks up at him, fingers flexing a little to gauge how tight the silk bonds are around his wrists. He still has a decent amount of mobility. Nothing hurts, circulation is not being interrupted. And it certainly isn’t the first time he’s been bound to the headboard of his bed by a lover. Absolutely no alarms are ringing in his head. “Perfectly comfy,” he assures. “Might even kip if you keep up the pace. Can you at least get your trousers off?”

“Oh, they’re not coming off,” 2D replies with a smile, settling down on Murdoc’s lap, looking content as can be. “But I knew you’d never agree to letting me do this unless I spiced it up, mentioned some bondage. You’re more predictable than you’d like to think, you old goth.”

For the first time, Murdoc feels himself start to tense under that stare. “Agree to let you do what, exactly?”

Relationships are not work. At least, they don’t really have to be. They are routine. You figure someone out, and then you follow the rules of that person’s mechanism, input the correct sort of dialogue at the correct moments, agitate when the situation calls for, and ultimately maintain or destroy the relationship according to how much money it can make you, or what drugs it can score you. Simple really.

His routine with 2D has been a complex one, evolving gradually but persistently over the years, requiring a lot of tweaking. First they were mates who occasionally snogged whenever they got high together (they smoked a lot of weed). Then they were fuck buddies. More recently, they’ve been treading into water that was warmer and much deeper than anything Murdoc is familiar with. And Murdoc has always been like a ship’s captain: at his most comfortable when he is in the water, but able to see land in the distance if he squints. 2D has gone from legal obligation to frontman to tempest so slowly that Murdoc didn’t see it coming until he’d been pulled in too deep, and now, wherever he strains to look, he can no longer spot land, only the phantom shadows of solid ground that turn out to be tricks of the eye.

“Hey, you with me?” 2D draws him out of his contemplation with soft, cool fingertips on his temple.

“Yeah, ‘course. Now what exactly do you want? How do you want me?”

“Well…” 2D blushes, tips his head at such an angle that, though the dark light of the bedroom obstructs any ability to see the rustbrown bloodstains in his eyes, Murdoc can intuit that he must be looking down, gaze snagging to the left, unable to look into the bassist’s face as he speaks. “Remember last week-”

“No.”

“Quiet! You bloody alcoholic. Remember last week, when we were listening to that bloke on that radio station who interviewed us a month ago?”

“That was Howard-fucking-Stern, you tit.”

“So you _do_ remember,” he teases, smiling triumphantly, and again Murdoc is able to recognize that 2D’s eyes are focused on his face again, though he can’t quite make out how he knows it. “Anyway, he was saying how fun it was to interview you and Russel in August.”

“Yeah, so?”

“And then, he said how Russel was real easy to get along with, the kind of bloke you’d want to go out for a drink with after an interview.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t use the term ‘bloke,’ sunshine. American.”

“And he said that you were really fun to talk to too! He said that everyone has this image in their head of you as a jerk or a bad guy, but you’re really quite smart and funny. And he’d love to interview you, or have you co-host one of his shows sometime.”

“Right. This has been riveting. Now, about that kip-”

“When you and I heard him say that last week, say how he liked you, you got this weird look on your face. You said no one’d ever said such nice things about you so earnestly. And well, Muds. Well…i thought that that was rather, um, sad. So I kind of wanted to…uh, I just figured.”

Murdoc tips his head back and closes his eyes, pretending to doze off. 2D pinches his cheeks playfully, and though he keeps his eyes closed, he can hear the singer’s smile when he finally forces his words out:

“I was thinking I should say nice stuff to you. Only I figured you’d tell me to bugger off. So I made up a whole story about wanting to try something different, and using silk to tie you down and well…” his fingers go from pinching to stroking, and Murdoc opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling rather than at 2D. Think of swimming in the ocean. The shallow shelf is so often bigger than you’d expect it to be; you can walk out into the water for what seems like a quarter of a mile and still touch the bottom. And then, eventually you reach that point where you set your foot down to kick off, and you no longer find the bottom.

“Dents.”

“Murdoc,” it’s somewhere between begging and whining, his tone. “Let me do this, okay? Just give it a shot.”

“Happy ending included?”

He chuckles. “If that’s what you want.”

“I’m sure you can multi-task,” he assures, rolling his hips up just a bit to feel the singer’s weight on top of him. Neither of them is hard: they hadn’t gotten to the foreplay yet. At least, he’d assumed there would be foreplay. And sex. And not this pathetic, mushy, how-the-fuck-did-Howard-Stern-precipitate-this?

“Fine. Let’s start with the obvious: you’re really smart, and I love to listen to you talk about smart stuff.”

He snorts. Oh, this isn’t going to be sexy. But at least it will be funny.

“I mean it! Not when you’re faking. I know that you don’t really know anything about Korean fashion like you told Noodle you do yesterday, and I know that you don’t have a master’s in archeology.”

“You know that, and you still licked that rock we found behind Kong when I asked you to. Remarkable.”

“You’re smart about useful stuff. Like how you were saying that ‘Girl’ was such a revelation to listen to when you were young because Lennon was using his voice as an instrument, not just as a means of saying lyrics prettily.”

“He was also referencing weed, mate.” Murdoc makes a similar inhaling noise to the one John Lennon makes in the song, trying to get 2D to understand that it’s a joke about hitting a blunt, nothing clever about it, just silly. “This is the same song that uses the word ‘tit’ in the background. Just randy northerners being randy, having some fun.”

“You’re trying to play it off now, but they way you first described it to me, Muds. the way you described vocalizations as instrumentation, it was incredible. You’re so smart about music, about ways to get the best feedback when we’re recording, about why you prefer to play without a pick because you like the way the strings vibrate against the pads of your fingers even though it hurts just a bit since you play so much.”

He leans forward then, still cupping Murdoc’s face, but now he also kisses his forehead. “You’re also very talented. Y’know, I could see you having a million different jobs if rock star hadn’t worked out. Not that I’m not happy Gorillaz have made it big, but. Well, you’re so handy around Kong that sometimes I think you could start a business. Just figuring shit out for people, fixing their leaky pipes and getting their teles to play all the channels.”

“That’s what plumbers are for,” he mumbles as another kiss is pressed to his brow, then another to his temple. “And I only sorted out the problem with the TV because Noodle was badgering me about it and I couldn’t take it.”

“I’ve imagined you as the guy who plays piano during intermissions at plays and musicals, because I think you’d make the waiting time between performances fun for people. And I could also picture you as a model for art students: the sort who poses in all sorts of outfits, or nude, so they can learn anatomy.”

“You’ve fantasized about that? Maybe you’re kinkier’n I gave you credit for, Stu-pot.”

“And speaking of you modeling, you’re beautiful to me, Murdoc. I love how sharp your collarbone is, and how elegant your fingers are, even when you’re just relaxing, your hands always look so delicate. I like the way you tend to look at things out of the corner of your eye when you’re trying to act disinterested; you don’t move your head, but your eyes flicker. And I love the little canine tooth on the left corner of your mouth, cuz it’s turned out a bit and it looks sharp, like a fang.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious-”

“No, I mean it’s my right canine tooth. Your left, my right.”

“Oh, yeah. Oops,” he loses his concentration for just a moment, glances at Murodc’s mouth, and the bassist obliges, opening his mouth to reveal his sharp tooth. “There it is! Also, I wasn’t done.”

“Stu, you don’t have to do this.” By which he means he’s not sure if he can take more of this. This is way off of their routine banter. This is meaningful. And Murdoc has always considered himself too nihilistic to handle meaningful things.

“You agreed to this,” he replies. “You’re bound and you’re not getting away from me, Murdoc.” 

He looms over him, and for a brief instant, Murdoc thinks, _I’m drowning_. But then, 2D’s mouth is on his, and he’s not thinking anything other than _don’t stop kissing me, you feel so good_.

“So where was I?,” he asks, and he begins to talk and he kisses Murdoc’s neck, his chest, strokes his hair soothingly. “Oh yeah, I like the way you look when you smoke, when you’re really lost in a story and your cigarette is burning down to ash and you don’t even notice because you’re so caught up talking, the way it dangles from your fingers. You’re good to me in ways no one else is. Like, you don’t ever make fun of me when you tie my shoes for me, but you also don’t make me feel like a baby for needing your help. Whenever we’re out shopping, you always pick up the candy I like, and you don’t yell at me when I eat the whole bag in one sitting, even though I get an upset stomach after. And I love how, when you pull me onto your lap, you tap your fingers against my waist like you’re keeping time to a tune. Like holding me close is a kind of song for you.”

2D’s hands have begun to travel down Murdoc’s face, along the column of his throat, over his ribs. The touch isn’t particularly sensual; it’s more grounding than anything else. He’s tempted to tell 2D that holding him is a song. He’s not stupid enough to actually say that out loud.

“You already know that I love you. And even though you can be a real hemorrhoid, you’re also the most interesting person I’ve ever dated.”

“Aw, Stu, we’re dating? I had no idea, congratulations.” Deflect. Deflect the warmth flooding into his chest with humor while there’s still room for coherent thought. He’s taking on way too much emotion. When you’re out this deep, so far from shore, it’s often too late by the time you realize that there’s a problem.

“I wanted to tie you down so you wouldn’t be able to run away or touch me to distract me. I wanted to have you here, at my mercy, Murdoc. To tell you that I love you more than I think I’ve ever loved anything, and that’s really scary. It’s also kind of beautiful. Just like you. You can be scary, but also so lovely to anyone who knows how to look at you,” he leans in again, presses their foreheads together, closes his eyes for a few beats. He opens them, and Murdoc can see only endless black. He should be terrified. Instead, he tilts his head up, tentatively asks for a kiss. 2D obliges, hands sliding down his body further, to settle on his hips, to anchor him here in this jet-black depth.

“You’re saying you know how to look at me.”

“Yeah.”

“You, and Howard Stern both.”

It takes hims him a moment, and then he’s laughing. “You can’t be serious for five minutes, can you?”

“Dents, this is a lot to take in. Do you think we can do other stuff while you tell me all this so I don’t have to process it all right this second?”

“I don’t want this to be about sex, Murdoc,” he argues, looking hurt. “I want it to be about you understanding what you mean to me, all the things I love about you.”

“Yeah, I bloody well got that,” he replies. “But this is a little much for me. Maybe if you give me some distraction, I can take this all in now, and process it a little later?” He squirms a bit, feeling vulnerable for the first time. Strange, since he had no problem lying down on his back when he was certain he was going to be stripped of his clothes.

2D mulls this idea over, then ultimately nods. “You promise you’re listening though? If I touch you, you’ll still hear what I’m saying?”

He meets his lover’s gaze without hesitating. “No one has ever complimented my collarbone before, you know.”

2D smiles and leans close for another kiss. “You have been paying attention.” Another kiss. “Okay, as long as you keep that up. Should I untie the bonds?”

“Nah, leave ‘em. I like to be tied up. I’ve got just one request before we continue.”

2D’s hands pause over Murdoc’s belt buckle. “Anything, Murdoc.”

“Maybe some day, when I’m there mentally, you’ll let me do this for you in return?”

The singer’s smile is daybreak after a storm. “I’d really like that, yeah.”

“Good,” he replies, closing his eyes, letting his head fall back, and enjoying the familiar slide of his belt being pulled from his trousers. “I think I would too. Now tell me how much you love my singing voice; say that I’m a better vocalist than you.”

“Now you’re _really_ pushing your luck, Niccals.”

Relationships are not work, they are routine. There is ebb and flow to them. 2D has never been predictable, practicable. The thrill of being pulled out into deeper waters, once nerve-wracking, has become a hobby for Murdoc. He cannot feel the shore beneath his feet. There are black eyes above him, watching him take on this mysterious romance till he begins to sink. He’s learned to trust that once he slips under, he will not forget how to breathe. Instead, he will find a world below the surface that looks similar to the one he left behind on land. Similar, but safer somehow, protected by roiling waves above and currents that know where to go. A turquoise-hued utopia. All he has to do is let go. And some day, he certainly will.


End file.
